My Lady's House
by Morgen86
Summary: “Her voice came calling to him from out in the hall. Soft and hopeful. The voice of the woman who would be his wife.” Meredith and Derek on their engagement night. A post Elevator Love Letter one shot.


_It is good in my lady's house  
every shape that her body makes  
Love is a fragile word  
in the air on the length we lay_

-Iron & Wine

It was raining when he made it to Meredith's house, fat drops splattering insistently against the porch as Derek hurried from car to front door. The house was dark, empty inside, but it felt like her. Warm and beautiful and just a little messy around the edges. The air that curled around him now was comforting. He shucked off his shoes and left them to dry on the mat by the door. A few pairs of Meredith's shoes lay in a jumbled heap beside his and he smiled at the sight of them there. Side by side with his. There was a new significance to that that he hadn't felt before, and he stood and stared in the darkened hall for a long time. Side by side like they belonged. The shoes of the woman that would be his wife.

He walked through the quiet house, turning on a few of the lights. Listening to the falling rain. She shouldn't have to come home to darkness. He took his things upstairs to their room and unpacked the bag he'd brought over in the morning. It felt good to see his shirts, his pants, his sweaters start to take up space in her closet again. He trailed his fingers down a sleeve of one of her sweaters and tried not to wonder how long it would be until she came home. They had the rest of their lives for this after all. But he was tense and agitated, starving for her. It had only been a few hours since he'd kissed her in the elevator, just a few hours since she had agreed to be his wife.

And Derek had felt every minute of it.

He had tried to distract himself. Now that he'd stuck his head up out of the dark hole he'd been living in and found that she still loved him, he could do things like that. He could think of things other than misery. Run an MRI for Owen. Try to be a friend. And he could reason with himself about how the very last thing he wanted to do was rush Meredith with Cristina. Not after she'd taken him aside and told him in a quiet voice that didn't mask her worry just what had happened the night before. How Owen's hands had ended up wrapped around Cristina's throat. He'd glanced at Meredith's neck when she told him. Slender and graceful, the skin delicate, perfect for kissing. It made him ill to think of hands against her throat for anything other than brushing back her hair, caressing her. Her friend deserved the same.

So she could stay with Cristina as long as she wanted. Even tonight. He wasn't jealous anymore. This was the woman who would be his wife, and Derek couldn't feel anything but proud of how determinedly she twisted and turned herself to be there for everyone she loved. Everyone who needed her. And she never said a word about it except to worry if her people were okay.

But he hungered for her all the same.

He collapsed on the edge of the rumpled bed and pulled the ring box from his pocket. Slowly, he opened it and stared. The diamond shone in the darkness, there in his hand instead of hers. He'd been afraid to offer it to her in the elevator, terrified to give her one more reason to say no. If she didn't want it anymore, he couldn't blame her. He'd taken a bat to it to hurt her and sent it hurtling towards the woods. It was enough that she still wanted him.

He wanted her to want it though; it was more than just a ring. Groaning, Derek snapped the box shut, growing frustrated with himself. If he hadn't gotten drunk and batted it away, he would have slipped it onto her finger already. Now, it had to wait. He would have to ask her if she even wanted it. There could be no getting upset if she didn't. His briefcase sat beside her dresser and he shoved it into the front pocket, leaving it there in their darkened room.

Derek wandered back downstairs, still keeping company with the rain. His eyes darted to the clock in the kitchen, and he was anxious with longing all over again. His muscles were taut, fingers drumming insistently against his thighs. Waiting was agony.

He started to rummage in the cabinets to keep busy, a plan hatching in his mind as he did. The center island grew cluttered with things. A box of angel hair pasta. A can of tomatoes. Olive oil, garlic, onion and parsley. Basil and red pepper flakes. He found a sharp knife and the cutting board, humming to himself as he moved about, suddenly purposeful. He would make her dinner. It was unlikely there was much to eat at Cristina's anyway.

Derek washed his hands and went to work making the sauce. He thought of her as he chopped and peeled, sautéing the garlic and the onion in olive oil. If she would like that he'd made her dinner, everything she'd say. He imagined it all as he cooked, picturing it again and again with slightly different reactions. Every time her smile was a little brighter, and he longed for her a little more. When the sauce was safely simmering, he turned away to conduct a thorough rummage of the liquor cabinet, unearthing a bottle of wine. He set it on the counter.

A car door slammed just as he'd opened the fridge again, about to make a salad. Derek turned the flame on the stove down very low and waited, hopeful, for keys to jingle and a lock to turn. They did, and then a moment later…

"Derek?"

Her voice came calling to him from out in the hall. Soft and hopeful. The voice of the woman who would be his wife.

He wiped his hands on a dishtowel and left the kitchen. "Hey," he said as he caught sight of her. She'd hung her coat up by the door and was setting down her bag.

"Hey…"

Her hair was damp from the rain, sticking to her skin, and she seemed to glow in the dim light. Soft, radiant, his. They stood still, staring at each other from opposite ends of the hall. The air was thick with longing, and he could hear her breathe.

And then they moved in the same moment as if they'd reacted to the same silent gunshot at the start of a race. He took long strides to get to her and she hurried down the hallway in her socks, skidding a little as if the hours they'd spent apart since the elevator had been the longest of her life. They had been of his.

But then Meredith was in his arms, soft and firm and warm against him. He breathed in the woman who would be his wife. She smelled like the rain, and underneath that like flowers. Like lavender and spring. He slipped his hands beneath her shirt, resting against the small of her back. His thumb brushed the bumps of her spine. Her hands went sliding up over his shoulders, his neck, into his hair. Slowly, as if she needed to relearn it all.

"You're back home," she murmured. The significance of her words wasn't lost on him. Not after all those dark, drunken nights alone on his land. The cold and bitter mornings that had followed. Those hours when he'd been so sure he'd lost her. The land he loved was empty now. It could never be his home again until she moved there with him. Until it held the house he would build for his wife. For their children.

He nodded solemnly. "I'm home."

"I'm glad," she said, her hands still roaming all over. Meredith sighed and kissed him once. Soft, as if to say hello. "I've been thinking about you all night."

"Hmm…same," said Derek. He shifted his hands lower, just fitting his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans. Resting against the very top of her ass. "I missed you," he said. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth across her skin. He loved the way she felt.

"Missed you too," said Meredith. He felt her pop up onto the balls of her feet and then she was kissing him hungrily, hands crawling through his hair. He pulled her closer, kissed her back. Dipped her down, down, down to the point where there was only her mouth, her tongue, the little moans she made. It felt like coming home. She slid her lips from his, running them along his jawline. Her cheek rubbed against his chin, and she hummed, making an adorable sound low in her throat. "I'm so glad you shaved," she purred, her voice dipping into warm, velvety notes that fueled the fire in his gut.

Derek chuckled and gripped her chin between his finger and thumb. "Thought you'd appreciate that," he said, angling her back to him so he could kiss her mouth again. She grinned against his lips for a moment, just standing there, her body warm, and it was bliss. But then something changed, and the kiss turned frantic. Starving. Desirous.

"Is anyone else…" she began, breaking away with a gasp. Her fingers went to the buttons on his shirt. "Home?"

"No," he said. It was more of a growl than a word, turning primal as all the tortured longing of the past few hours surged through him. He wanted her now. Needed her now. Quickly, he tugged at her sweater, peeling it from her arms. It fell to the floor along with his shirt. He pushed a leg between hers, spreading her as he shuffled them back. Their feet tangled together and she giggled when she bumped against the wall.

They tugged and pulled at every piece of clothing, shedding it all with deft fingers. Quickly they laid each other bare. He eased a hand between her legs and rubbed. Meredith was wet already, slick against his fingers, clenching the one he slipped inside her. She writhed against him, pubic bone grinding down against the heel of his hand. The little mewling sounds she made had him rock hard, dying for her, desperate not to wait.

Derek sucked on her throat, kissing a wet trail up to her ear. He bit down and tugged, his breath spilling hot against her skin. Her voice melted into a groan and he felt the sharp bite of her nails as they scrabbled against his back. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Yeah, yeah." She thunked her head against the wall and lifted a leg so he could pick her up. His hand found her thigh and he smoothed his palm around it. "I've been freaking ready since the elevator."

He laughed, the sound low and throaty as he hoisted her up. Cradled her slight body between him and the wall. Her legs enveloped him, squeezed his waist as he pushed in. And Derek stood still. Lost. Surrending. Buried deep inside the woman that would be his wife. She was all around him, consuming him like a fire with slick, wet heat. He groaned and kissed her fiercely; her mouth swallowed the sound. It had been too long since he'd had her in his arms.

Meredith leaned against the wall and clung to him. She rocked her hips. Spots flared behind his eyes and he started to thrust. Pushing in and up and deep inside her. Her hands were everywhere, clinging, always clinging. Tugging tight in his hair and racing over his shoulders to grip his back, nails tracing lines along his skin. And he thrust into her again. Again and again. They were hurried, fast and frantic. Soon slick with a sheen of sweat, slipping as they ground together. Slipping as he took her, took her, took her to wherever the edge was. They would fall.

She threw her head back against the wall, frenzied, messy, all inhibition gone. She chanted his name. "Derek, Derek. Crap, Derek…" He groaned and forced himself to slow down. Dropping to a shuddering, torturous in out that made his legs burn and the space behind his eyes flare red. He kept up the grueling pace, endlessly, endlessly so she could finish. And then she did. She was there. He pressed her to the wall and ran her through, delighting in the way she came. Loud and wildly beautiful, crying his name because no one was home. Or maybe just because she liked to be loud. She never seemed to care if her roommates knew. And Derek knew he didn't care. He wanted the whole world to know that she was his. He was the one making love to her. The one who held her as she climaxed, cradled her body when her muscles went lax and she quivered and clenched around him.

And then she was limp, gasping, her mouth against his skin. Breathing. Breathing in. She clung to him as he sped up, driven by need, desperate to have her, ravenous and with out reason. All he could do was go, hurtling closer with every thrust. Her legs were wide for him, and his mind burned. She sucked her way along the patch of skin where his neck gave way to his shoulders, humming a little as he filled her. Desire was madness, and he knew nothing other than her body in that moment. The world started and ended with Meredith. She was incredibly soft and entirely his. He lost himself in her, erupting to the sound of her name.

They stood locked together like jigsaw pieces, his muscles burning, their bodies spent. He bowed his head to kiss her shoulder. She was damp from the rain and the sweat on their skin. Her fingers pet his hair.

"That was…" she breathed.

Derek nodded. "Yeah. It was."

He withdrew and set her gently on her feet. Leaning in, he kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek. Tilted her chin with his thumb and kissed her lips. Softly. Slowly. There was no rush now. The constant whine in his mind had died down, and they had the rest of their lives for this. He hugged her to his chest and felt her smile against his mouth.

"We're engaged," whispered Meredith.

"Mmm," he hummed and kissed her again. "We are."

Her smile widened and he felt that too. She pulled back a little, just enough so he could see her eyes, grayish blue tonight. Like the sky after rain. "Technically that makes you my fiancé."

"It does." He grinned. There was something wonderful about hearing the word in her voice. "And it makes you my fiancée."

"It does," she echoed. He felt a shiver run through her, and her fingers curled in his hair. "Say it again."

"Fiancée?"

"Yes."

"Fiancée," he said again, his voice low. The word brushed over them like velvet and she sighed.

"Yes," said Meredith. She leaned forward and pressed her face to his chest. His hands ran up and down her back, trailed along her spine. He frowned, suddenly remembering the kitchen. His plans to surprise her.

"Come on," he said softly, kissing her dampened hair. "I was making you dinner."

She lifted her head and looked at him, eyes lighting up. So delighted over such a little thing. "You're making me dinner?" she asked, and then her expression clouded. "Crap. Did we burn it?"

"If we did, I'm not sorry."

Meredith grinned at him. "Me neither."

He bent to pull his boxers back on, but by the time he turned to find his shirt, she was wearing it. He didn't mind. It looked much better on her anyway. They left the rest of their clothes on the floor, and he took her by the hand, leading her into the kitchen. He didn't want to ever stop touching her.

The sauce was safe, still happily simmering away under a very low flicker of flame. He got out a pot to boil water for pasta, and Meredith hopped up unceremoniously onto the center island. She lifted the lid on the saucepan, staring down at the slowly simmering red sauce. "What're you making?" she asked. "It smells delicious."

"Pasta," he said, giving the sauce a stir before moving to stand between her legs. He was suddenly keenly aware that she had nothing on but his shirt. His hands slid up her knees to stroke the crease at her inner thigh. "I was going to make a salad too, but I got distracted."

She giggled and bit her lip. "Distracted, huh? That's too bad."

"A real tragedy," he agreed with fake sincerity, smirking at her. He'd planned to set the table too, put out their nicer plates and silverware in the dining room. Give her at least a little of the romance. Candlelight and glasses of wine. Maybe some softly playing music. But she looked so perfect sitting there half naked on the counter, draped in his shirt. Her hair wild from sex, her lips freshly swollen from his kisses. She was poking around at all the ingredients he'd set out like each one was a mystery, and he couldn't imagine wanting to spend this night any other way than exactly the way it was right then.

"So," she said, picking up the small jar of basil and staring at it. "You making dinner tonight. Is this your way of telling me that once we're married, you're gonna do all the cooking?"

Derek chuckled and rubbed his hands up and down her knees. Once they were married. He loved the way she said it. "I think it's safest that way," he teased.

"You know, you should give me more credit. I can make toast and grilled cheese. Cereal. Also, I order take out."

"Hmmm….good point." He leaned in and kissed her firm on the mouth. "Only one of those counts as cooking though."

"But you can eat all of them," countered Meredith. He laughed and for a moment, he knew she was very happy. But then she laid her head against his shoulder and just rested there. Something quieter seemed to wash over her.

He held her for awhile, not moving, before following his suspicion. "Hey," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "How was Cristina?"

Meredith straightened up to look at him. "She broke up with Owen," she said, her voice quiet and full of a sigh. "Which is good because he almost killed her." She made a face, fingers trailing along his chest. "He needs some serious help, Derek. Way more than an MRI."

Derek nodded. He couldn't argue with that. "I know."

"But it's bad too," she added, her voice growing softer still. "I think he really made her happy. She never talks about Burke, and now…" She shrugged and fell silent, but he could guess at the second half of her sentence. Now it was Meredith's turn to get married, and her best friend had been left at the altar. She sighed again. "I just want her to be happy, you know?"

"I know," he said. "But you're there for her. That's all you can do. She has to figure out how to be happy for herself."

Meredith gave a half hearted nod and started swinging her legs back and forth as he moved away to check the pasta. "It's just…" she continued loudly after a moment. "Everything's going crappy all at once, but my mouth actually hurt tonight because I couldn't stop smiling the whole time I was driving home. It's messed up. Izzie could _die, _Derek. She's still so sick. She could just be gone one day. Dead. And I can't stop smiling."

"Yeah," said Derek sadly. The diagnosis had blindsided him, hitting with the force of a truck, and he wasn't even the one who considered her family. It hurt to imagine the toll it had to be taking on Meredith.

"And if she dies," she continued, still swinging her feet violently. "Alex, he… I don't know. He really, really loves her. All that crap you'd think Alex would never care about, he actually wants it with her, and now the odds of it being too late are really freaking good. Plus, my best friend was strangled, and I'm engaged." She laughed to herself, bending forward and burying her head in her hands, sounding nervous. Frazzled. Derek left the pasta in the sink, steam still rising from the colander, to walk back to her. He ran his hands up and down her arms. She'd been kind enough to leave his personal crisis out of her litany of stresses, but he knew that had played a part in wearing her down as well.

"Mer," he murmured.

She looked up. Her eyes were damp with tears, but she was smiling. "And all I really want to do is not think about any of it right now and be happy. I just want to be happy for tonight." She sighed and pushed at her hair. "That's horrible, right?"

"No," said Derek. "It's not. You can be happy tonight. You deserve it."

"Yeah?" She sounded uncertain, wrinkling her nose like she couldn't believe it.

"Yeah," he said firmly. He squeezed her knee and went back to the sink, shaking the last of the water from the pasta.

For a moment she was silent, but then he heard her murmuring to herself, her voice barely a whisper. "Feeling the horrible and knowing you're not going to die because of it…"

"Huh?" asked Derek. "What's that?"

She shrugged. "Just something someone told me once," she said with a quiet smile. "I'll tell you about it later. We can be happy tonight," she added, her voice every bit as firm as his had been. "I _am _happy tonight."

A weight lifted from his shoulders and he smiled back, grateful that she would let herself have the moment she deserved. "Good," he said. "Want to help me make a salad?"

She raised an eyebrow but hopped down from her perch on the center island. "What do I do?"

"There's a salad-in-a-bag in the fridge. Just get it out, open the bag, and dump it in a bowl."

"Seriously?" asked Meredith, padding over to the fridge and opening it. "That's it?"

"That's it," he agreed, pausing to watch as she bent over, searching in the vegetable drawer. He caressed her with his eyes, following the smooth backs of her legs all the way up to where his shirt gave way to the barest hint of her ass. Something tightened in his gut, and he felt suddenly, fiercely possessive. She was beautiful, and he would never have to share. She would be his wife.

When Meredith straightened up, he forced himself to go back to readying the pasta. "Found it," she said as she joined him at the center island, clearly delighted with herself. He could only grin as he watched her do exactly as he'd said. Open bag. Dump in bowl. It was all very unceremonious, and she brandished it at him as soon as she was done. "Add salad to the list of things I can cook," she said.

Derek snorted. "You don't cook salad, Mer."

"Fine," she said, waving a hand. "Things I can _make_. Whatever."

"You want to include salad-in-a-bag on your list of dishes you know how to make?" he asked skeptically.

"Yeah," said Meredith, returning to the fridge to grab the bottle of vinaigrette. "It counts."

"Desperate," he said, grinning at her. She just shrugged and shuffled over to where he stood stirring the sauce. She leaned close against him, toying with his chest hair. "Here, taste this," he added, dipping the spoon back in the red sauce and bringing it to her lips.

She opened her mouth and sucked on the edge of the spoon, making a happy, humming sound in her throat as she swallowed.

"Good?" he asked hopefully.

She nodded. "Very."

"Are you hungry now?" he said, walking away towards the cabinet to grab two bowls.

"Starving," said Meredith. He uncorked the wine, getting down glasses while he was at the cabinets. Her eyebrows shot straight up when he presented her with a glass full of the merlot. "You even got wine." She grinned at him and took a large sip. "You're being very perfect tonight."

"Found the wine," he allowed, picking up his own glass and clinking it against hers.

Meredith shrugged. "Still counts."

They ended up eating right there at the kitchen table, sitting side by side, their bare feet tangling together under the table. There was no flickering glow of candles in the dining room or all the space of the long oak table stretching between them. Instead it was the bright lights of the kitchen that kept them company, and she was close enough that he could press kisses to her lips whenever he wanted to. And he wanted to very often. The rain had picked up, blowing branches against the house in a frenzy, but the room they were in glowed golden and warm as if to ward off the storm. And it was perfect. This was the room where he'd first told her he loved her. The woman who would be his wife.

They ate slowly, drinking their way through the bottle of wine. He complimented her salad with almost every other bite, growing more and more outlandish with his praise until she balled up a napkin and threw it at him, laughing as she called him by his full name.

"Derek Christopher Shepherd," she said. "Stop being an ass or you won't be getting any tonight."

He just grinned. "Any _more_, you mean. I already got plenty."

They fell into easy conversation, bantering with each other, exchanging random facts, bits of trivia about themselves. Insisting that they needed to know these things now that they were going to be husband and wife. He learned that she liked to ski. That she'd sprained an ankle when she was nine thanks to an unsuccessful cartwheel down a hill. And that Doc was the only pet she'd ever had, unless you counted the one fish she'd owned for all of forty-eight hours before it died. (She said it was a crime to count the fish.) He told her how he'd learned to play guitar. That he'd spent a week when he was seven trying to make himself ambidextrous by writing with his left hand every day. And he told her all about Rocket, the dog his family had when he was a kid. How it had been everyone's dog but really his. She laughed a lot and it made him smile.

"Tell me about the elevator," she said, halfway through the meal. "How'd you pull that off?"

It had taken a lot of time. A lot of tangling with tape. A lot of cursing when he couldn't get the damn light boxes to stay up. A lot of getting distracted when he pinned up the thank you notes and revisited the faces of patients they'd saved, remembering just why it was he loved being a doctor. Why he was so, so grateful Meredith hadn't let him give that up.

He shrugged. "I got Richard to direct the traffic."

She nodded eagerly, clearly wanting to know more. "And?"

"And?" he echoed. "I can't tell you the rest of it. I'd spoil the magic. It wouldn't be impressive anymore."

Meredith laughed. "It was…" Her voice softened, her eyes glowing radiant in the light of the kitchen. "It was very impressive. I loved it, Derek."

"Good." He reached out and brushed the hair from her face. He wanted to give her everything she wanted. He took a bite of his pasta, growing thoughtful. "It was nice to see those files again."

"All the patients you saved." She smiled and he could tell she understood exactly what he'd felt, exactly what that had done for him.

"That _we_ saved," he corrected, and her smile only brightened.

When the pasta was gone and there was only the wine to finish, she crawled into his lap and they sat drinking it in long, slow swallows while the storm grew louder. Her hair was golden and messy, some wild halo to frame her face. He toyed with a lock of it, winding her hair round and round his thumb. The strands were silky soft, and he liked how she felt, sitting in his lap. She'd bothered to do exactly one of the buttons on his shirt, the one that hit just below her navel, and he traced the deep V of skin leading down to it. Slowly, he outlined the soft curves of her breasts and rubbed her nipples through the fabric. She started to grow damp against his thigh, and Derek leaned in, kissing her hungrily. She tasted like wine and tomato sauce. Her lips were redder than both. He ran his tongue along the inside of her mouth and sucked on her lower lip, eager to make love to her again. To have her in his arms. Meredith. The woman who would be his wife.

"We should clean this up," he said quietly.

"We should."

Meredith tangled her fingers in his hair and dipped down, kissing him once before slipping from his lap. She snatched up her wine glass, sipping at the very last of it, and they stumbled about the kitchen in their bare feet. She opened cabinets, putting away what he'd left out, and he dropped the dishes off in the sink, quickly rinsing off some of the sauce. He could wait to scrub them later. Derek was running water in the saucepan when she sidled up behind him, pressing her face into his back. Slender arms wrapped around his chest and she kissed between his shoulder blades.

"Come to bed with me, Derek," she murmured.

He turned off the water at once. Rinsing the dishes could wait for later too. He spun around and scooped her up into his arms, grunting as he hoisted her high. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, and he wanted to bottle the feeling. The complete happiness he felt just listening to her shriek with laughter as he lumbered up the stairs in her house. Carrying her to their room. Their bed.

It was very still in there with rumpled sheets, the lights out but the glow of streetlamps sliding through the slats in the blinds. He could hear the storm when he set her down, and the raindrops on the windowpane patterned her skin with shadow and light.

They went slowly this time.

She sat on the very edge of the bed, and he knelt in front of her, retracing the line of her shirt with a single fingertip. It clung to her, the thin stripes of white and blue making her seem bright in the darkened room. Derek bent his head and closed his lips around her breast, softly mouthing it through the fabric. He pressed his tongue to her nipple and felt it stiffen, leaving a damp spot on the shirt. When he pulled away she moaned and twisted slightly, presenting him with her other side. Slowly, tenderly he pleased her, drawing each moment out. There was no rush.

When he finally undid the solitary button, the two halves of her shirt fell apart, leaving her body bare. Derek kissed her cleavage, her belly, the undersides of her breasts. He nipped at her skin and laved her with his tongue again and again, traveling up and down the length of her torso before returning to take a nipple in his mouth. She cried out when he started to suck, shivered when he teased first one hardened nub and then the other with his teeth. His hands roamed up and down her sides, holding her tiny waist. Following the way it flared out, curving into slender hips. He wanted to pet each new inch of skin the shirt had given him. Every freckle. Every crease. It had been too long since they had been here together, and he wanted to relearn it all.

He took her hand in his and turned it over, pressing his lips to her palm. She was staring at him intently, her eyes gone dark and lustrous, her mouth curving into a smile he knew by now meant desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, fingers curling around her hips. He dragged her forward, draping her legs over his shoulders. Fast had been before. Down in the hallway where hello had quickly turned into need, every kiss heavy with desperation. Now there was no need for fast. They had the rest of their lives for this, and he wanted to make her come every way he could. Slowly this time, dragging it out so her legs would shake against his shoulders. He kissed her navel and then lower, rubbing her with his fingers.

"Mer," he murmured, lips against her inner thigh. She sighed and fell back against the mattress, tense and relaxed at the very same time. Derek spread her apart and found her pink and swollen, glistening. She was full of shallow breaths, whimpering as he dipped his head, delving into her with his tongue. He swept over her with broad strokes, closed his lips around her clit. She gripped his head with her thighs, shifting, moaning. He varied pace and pressure, listening carefully to every moan she made like she was the symphony he was composing. He knew her body, each note it made. What would draw from her a moan, a sigh, a tortured groan. When to curl a finger just so. Where to lick, to nibble, to suck. He did it all, delighting in the sounds she made. In the way her hands tangled in his hair, trying to bring him nearer still. Again and again he drew long moans from her that fell like waterfalls until she came crashing around him. Her heels dug into his back as her thighs tensed. She trembled and groaned, quivering like a leaf. He kissed her at her center, feeling her shake and shake until first she slowed. And then she stilled.

Breathless. Gasping against the bed. She was so very beautiful.

"Derek," she sighed, fingers reaching for him. His palm pressed to hers and their fingers locked. His were slick against her skin. She pulled him weakly towards her and he crawled onto the mattress, holding himself up on his knees. Meredith lay beneath him, her body a map he knew very well. She was staring at him, spent and happy. Still blissful in the afterglow. "I'm going to be your wife," she said.

"My wife," he agreed, tasting the words. He liked the way they slid along his tongue, as precious as her kisses. Idly she reached out and toyed with the waistband of his boxers. She touched him through the fabric, raking her way up the underside of his length, feather light with her fingernails like she was touching tissue paper. His body tensed in anticipation.

"Over," she mumbled, nudging his shoulder with her chin. Derek complied and rolled onto his back, carrying her with him. She straddled his chest and kissed him, dipping her tongue down deep. Exploring. Sighing when she broke from his lips and scooted backwards, settling just above his knees. He waited, eager, wanting her.

Slowly, she eased his boxers down, bending forward so her hair swung free. He watched, fascinated by the way it waved in front of her face, pale in the dark room, streaked by moonlight. Long strands brushed his groin, lighter than silk. It made his skin prickle and he moaned loudly. She rocked forward on her elbows and met his eyes. Hers glowed green. He tried not to jerk his hips, not to strain and thrust up, but she was close enough that he could feel the soft puff of her breath against his erection. He clenched his fists as he waited for her to return with her touch. With the red, red warmth of her mouth.

She hovered above him, close, so close for a moment, and then she kissed the tip, lips locked around his swollen head. She swirled her tongue against him, tracing, drawing lines that were delicate. He groaned as she took him in her mouth and sucked hard once before pulling away. Meredith was grinning, her mouth curved in a line that looked wicked. Her eyes intent, studying him. She brought her hand to her mouth and licked from thumb to fingers, tongue sweeping over her palm. Hungrily he reached out and grabbed her hair, piling it in his fist so he could see.

And then she took him in her mouth again, gripping the base of his shaft with her hand. Her palm was slick, her mouth even more so. Derek groaned as she pumped him in her fist and sucked, taking him deeper into the wet, wet warmth of her mouth, pulling strongly, her tongue a constant tease. She had him slumped against the pillows, panting. Strands of her hair escaped from his fist, tumbling down to graze his inner thighs. His hips jerked reflexively, and he gave in to the urge to thrust up just a little. A very little. Meredith only hummed low in her throat and slipped her lips further down his length. Took more of him into her mouth until he knew he would finish soon if she didn't stop.

"Mer, wait," he said, tugging on her hair. She stilled and looked up, seeking out his eyes. Her face was flushed and she kissed the tip once more.

And then she was crawling up him, smiling widely. Her hair spilled over her shoulders. "You want to come inside me?"

"Yes," he moaned as she paused to flick a nipple with her tongue. "Oh, yes."

"Good," she said, her voice as soft and velvety as she felt. "Because I want you inside me."

Derek wrapped his arms around her, hands splayed against her back. He tilted his head to suck on her neck, tasting the faint sheen of sweat on her skin as he flipped them over.

He liked the way she tilted her head to the side when she spread her legs apart. She bit her lip and looked very coy. He found it endearing. She took his hand and held it when he pushed into her.

Her eyes were wide and they fed straight into his, aligning as he eased slowly in and out of her. She felt amazing. Tight around him, slick with heat. Her fingers played in his hair, and she spread her thighs further. Shifting, sighing beneath him. She was bliss, and she would be his wife.

"I love you," he murmured as he kissed his way along her throat. He found her mouth and she was smiling.

She was not one for big declarations, he knew that. But tonight she clung to him like he was her life raft in the ocean. "I love you too," she said softly, sweeping her palm against his cheek. Sometimes, she could be so gentle that it made him want to weep.

He was lost in every curve, every shape she was, soft and warm in his arms, breathing against him. Their legs brushed together, their hands exploring everything familiar as if it was new again. The scar from her appendectomy that cut a thin line across her abdomen. The tiny triangle of freckles that lay clustered beneath her right breast. The way her eyes seemed to change with desire, slipping from pale green into dusky gray as he brought her closer.

Outside was the sound of falling rain and the roll of thunder, but there in her house, Derek kept company with her moans. He wanted her to come again if she could, and so he went slowly, playing, savoring, worshiping all of her. Meredith would be his wife, and she was beautiful beneath him. Her hair a mess, glossing over the pillows in endless, unruly waves. Her lips parted, panting. Meeting his for gasping, open mouthed kisses again and again as they stole breaths from each other. His hand found a breast, palming it, rolling a nipple between thumb and forefinger. He tugged and pinched and listened to the sounds she made as he thrust into her. Her thighs were slick against him, her skin damp as she wrapped her legs around him and urged him deeper. "Oh," she moaned. "Derek, please. More."

He slipped his hand down, rubbing her clit, watching mesmerized as she started to come. It was a sudden slide from something lustful into something much more lost. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth wild, her back arcing away from the bed. Derek groaned as she clenched and clenched around him, hot and close, lost in a rhythm that felt older than time. She would be his wife. Meredith. This woman for the rest of his life. He gave in to the pull of her body, the shuddering end to her climax dragging him under, causing him to spill.

"Meredith," he groaned. "Mer, Mer, Mer."

And then they were very still, collapsed together. The world was perfect, and he saw it all shining there in her eyes. Derek kissed her softly, sweetly, tracing her lips with his tongue. He felt weary, but he rolled them over once more. Switching places so he took the slight weight of her body onto him instead of the other way around. His fingers walked up and down her spine, smoothed over her ass, raked up to tangle in her hair. Meredith traced the edge of his earlobe and rubbed her foot up and down against his leg. She made a low sound like a purring cat.

For a long time they lingered without words. Breathing, petting, idly caressing while the storm raged outside the window. Lightening spilled its flash across their skin. They listened to the thunder and the rain. But none of it reached inside her house. It was a bubble. A tiny perfect world where everything was serene and the only thing he felt was how much he loved her. Meredith. This woman who would be his wife.

Eventually, she slid off of him and curled up at his side. Their sweat had chilled, and he could feel her shivering. "Cold?" he asked. She only nodded, pressing icy toes against him as if it required proof. He leaned forward and fished for the tangled, discarded covers, sweeping them up to cover her. It hid her body from his view, but he pulled her closer, hands touching all that he couldn't see. "Better?" he said as she snuggled against him.

Meredith sighed. "Much."

He smiled and hugged her to him, picking up her slender hand in his. Her left hand. The finger with its missing ring. He let his gaze drift towards where his briefcase sat beside the dresser.

Letting go of her hand, he slid from the bed.

"Derek?" She sounded confused, scooting back against the pillows to follow him with her eyes.

"Shhh," he soothed and stalked naked across the room. "Just a sec." He felt her gaze on him as he bent down, fishing the ring from its box. His stomach clenched and he felt nervous. He wanted so very much for her to want it.

The ring stayed hidden, clutched in his fist as he returned to the warmth of the blankets and Meredith's body. "What is it?" she asked. He hesitated for a moment but then nodded his head, the pillowcases rustling with the motion.

"I want you to have this," he said, uncurling his fist. The ring lay there flat against the palm of his hand, delicate and unharmed. Her engagement ring. "If you want it," he continued, growing less certain when she stayed silent, simply staring. He flushed a little and cleared his throat. "I know with the, with the bat. If you don't want it after…"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "I want the ring, Derek."

"You do?"

"You got me a ring. I want my ring."

He smiled softly and picked up her hand in his. Her fingers were long and slim, graceful. Like a pianist. He brought the tiny, silver circle to the tip of her finger and slowly pushed it past her knuckle. The ring settled in its place.

"There," he said. It shone against her slender hand.

"There," she echoed, stretching her arm out. She lifted her hand in the air, turning it, angling it, smiling like maybe she was admiring it. "It's beautiful," she said.

"It was my mother's," said Derek.

"Oh…" she said, her voice soft with uncertainty. "Will she mind?"

He shook his head, smiling at her through his disbelief. One day he would make her give herself more credit. "Meredith, _no_. She wanted you to have it."

"She wanted me to have it," said Meredith. She spoke slowly as if this was something foreign and impossible. Her eyes were wide and she touched her thumb to his lower lip. "She really did like me then?"

"She really did."

"She's not gonna freak out that I'm marrying her only son?"

"No," said Derek firmly. "She'll be delighted."

"And she's not going to come swooping into Seattle to steal my eyebrows? It's a Cristina thing," she added when he frowned in confusion.

Derek grinned at her. "She absolutely will not steal your eyebrows." He reached out and traced them with his thumb. They framed her eyes beautifully. "Because I want you to keep them. Both of them. They're sexy." She made a face like that was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard, and he kissed her once, twice. A third time. "They are," he insisted. "There's not a single thing about you that isn't sexy. My sexy, gorgeous, delicious fiancée."

Meredith laughed, kissing him sloppily. "You're not so bad yourself, fiancé," she said with a giggle.

They went back to drifting, sated and spent, touching idly again. He picked up her hand in his, feeling the difference. The way the ring band met his skin. It looked perfect sitting there on her tiny hand, and he felt a familiar, sick wave of guilt. Now, sober and engaged to her, he could barely believe he'd taken a bat to her ring. That he would ever threaten something so precious as what they had together. That he would ever do something designed to hurt her so.

"Meredith," he began, his voice cracking on her name. "About the woods…" He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. "I never should've done what I did. Never should've said those things to you."

She turned and looked at him for a long time. Silent, staring. "No," she whispered. "You shouldn't have."

"I'm sorry." He brushed her hair back from her face, rubbing his thumb against her cheek. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I know you are," she said. "It's okay."

He shook his head. "I always take it out on you. The one person I don't want to ever hurt."

Meredith rolled into him and curled up against his side. Her toes were still cold and he pulled her tighter. "We've both hurt each other," she said quietly. "We both have scars. And I'm sorry too."

"You're sorry?" echoed Derek. "Why on earth are you sorry? I was the asshole with the bat."

"Because I hurt you too," she said. "It wasn't last week, but I hurt you too, and I never apologized."

They were quiet for several minutes, his fingers running up and down her side. But then she raised her head and stared straight at him. Her eyes were solemn and full of questions.

"What?"

She sighed, chewing on her lower lip. "Do you think we'll hurt each other like that again? When we're married?"

"Maybe… It's possible." He gripped her body, held her close. "I'll try like hell not to though," he said fiercely. There was now no one more important in the world than her; he could not bear the thought of hurting his wife.

"Me too," said Meredith, splaying her hand against his chest, toying at the dark patch of hair that sprouted there. "I'll try not to too." She took a breath and smiled at him, looking suddenly impish. "And while we're talking about the future here, no more heading off to the trailer. You can be all broody at the other side of the bed. No farther. Either that or you're taking me with, and you can be all broody at the other side of the bed in the trailer."

He grinned at her tone. "You're very, very bossy," he said.

"Keeps you in line," mumbled Meredith as she laid her head down again, resting against his chest.

"Yeah." Derek stroked her hair, winding it round and round his hand. "But okay," he added, growing serious. "It's a deal."

"Okay," she said. "Good." She draped a leg across his waist. The storm had lessened, and she sighed, gentle like the pattering rain. "It was hard to sleep without you here," she said, sounding soft and hesitant. "I know when one of us is on call it's an empty bed anyway, but this was…" Her hand stilled against his chest. "This was different."

Derek closed his eyes, feeling a pang of guilt. He had left her here alone. The woman who would be his wife. "I know the feeling," he said. "Took a lot of drinks to get to sleep out there."

She nodded, and her head bumped against his chin. "Yeah."

There was only rain and shadow now, the warmth of her body beside him. When she yawned, the room seemed to grow softer, sleepier with the sound. He kissed her hair, breathing in her scent. "You can sleep now, Meredith," he whispered, rolling her back into his arms. She shifted so they lay face to face, tangled together.

"Yeah," she said. "I can." Her eyes sparked in the darkness. "Goodnight, fiancé," she added lightly, teasing, sounding very pleased.

Derek chuckled and pressed his lips to hers. "Goodnight, fiancée," he echoed back. She would be his wife.

They listened to the rain until their eyes closed. He fell asleep wrapped in nothing but her arms. She wore nothing but her ring.


End file.
